


blood orange

by brideofquiet



Series: modern men [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fertility Issues, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Steve Rogers, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Rough Sex, spray it off in the backyard first kind of filthy, sweeter than any of those tags imply tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 21:03:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19797721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brideofquiet/pseuds/brideofquiet
Summary: It’s a game, always.Chase me, take me, remind me I’m yours.





	blood orange

Steve is whistling in the apartment. Even in the hallway, Bucky can hear him—their door is water-warped, doesn’t quite reach the floor on one side. It’s the song that played at the dance hall last week, Bucky thinks, the one that the crowd loved so much the band had played it twice in a row. Steve never cared much for dancing, said it made him feel too awkward, but he let Bucky swing him around the room to that one.

Bucky likes the song better rendered in Steve’s high warble.

He keys into the door, and the smell of their home wafts over him and sinks into his bones, settling him. There’s Steve, hands in the kitchen sink, scrubbing away at their scratched dishware. A pot of hot water steams faintly on the range, waiting to be used.

Steve turns his head when he hears Bucky entering, a warm smile plastered on his face. “Hi, Buck.”

“Hey there,” Bucky says and returns his smile as he closes the door, walling off the outside world. It’s good, this place—theirs. Old, but new. Small, but he doesn’t mind; just more opportunities for Steve to run into him, for Bucky to sling an arm around his waist and pull him in. The temptation is there right now, to grab his omega and haul him away from the sink, spin him around and maybe sink his teeth in—but it’d be rude, to interrupt Steve when he’s busy. Later.

For now, he wanders toward their bedroom to hang his coat and hat, talking over his shoulder as he goes. “Good day, huh?”

“Eh,” Steve calls back. “Students were fine. Nobody’s praises to sing today.”

Steve teaches art part-time at one of the public schools—he’s better with the art than the children, but it’s a decent job, and one he’s lucky to have. Bucky could support them if he got a better job, maybe at a corporate accounting firm instead of bookkeeping for a museum, but he likes his job and Steve likes providing. Hates the idea of not doing something productive, not helping.

People have a lot of ideas about how an omega’s supposed to be productive, and Steve stamped _rejected_ on just about all them a long time ago. _That’s fine for other people, Buck, but not me._ He always did have an unusual perspective on the world. Sometimes it’s hell to live with. Other times—

Most of the time Bucky’s just grateful to live with him at all. That they’re making this work.

“So,” Bucky says, “what’s got you in such a good mood, then?”

The sink squawks when Steve turns the handle to rinse. “Don’t know. I’ve been feeling good these last few days.”

“Mm.” Bucky loosens his tie, leaning his hip against the jamb of the bedroom door to watch Steve. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

His eyes skim along Steve’s body, from the bright back of his head slowly downward. Steve has been home for a few hours, so he’s already dressed down. A raggedy old sweater of Bucky’s is tucked around his narrow waist to compensate for the February chill. Below that, he wears only a pair of long johns, leaving no part of his rear end to Bucky’s imagination. He’s seen it enough times to describe it in such detail even a blind man could picture it—but even so.

Steve moves his hips while he scrubs, still humming. It’s goddamn hypnotic.

“You staring at me?” Steve asks. He looks over his shoulder, blinking knowing eyes.

“D’you mind?”

“Nope.”

When he leans over farther than he really needs to pull the stopper from the drain, that’s it. Called forward, Bucky swarms toward him across the room and gets his hands on him, one on his shoulder and one on his waist. His touch is more innocent than he telegraphed, but he hasn’t touched Steve all day. Spare him a few moments to be reverent about it.

“Well, hello there,” Steve hums.

“Howdy.”

Steve’s snort rocks them both. “You’re a goose.”

“I’ll goose _you.”_

“Yeah? Double dog dare you.”

Bucky pinches his rear just for the insolence, and Steve giggles and sighs, melting affectionately backward. Normally by now Steve would have turned around, shoved Bucky where he wants, maybe laid one on him. He’s forceful; Bucky eats it up. But Steve really has been in a stellar mood this last week or so, which has made him more compliant than usual. More affectionate too—not that he isn’t always, but loving Steve comes with the expectation of a little bite to the sweetness. Only this week, he’s practically rotted Bucky’s teeth with all his sugary tenderness.

“Glad you’re home, Buck,” he says, head lolling on Bucky’s shoulder. “Missed you. Love you.”

“I’ve only been gone eight hours.”

“Love you so much.”

“Yeah, alright, sweetie. I love you too.”

Steve coos happily, eyes closed. He looks beautiful, his eyelids lavender and his cheeks pink-washed. To put it plainly, he’s luminous—has been all week. Just glowing inside and out. Bucky thinks maybe he’s never seen him look so beautiful.

The radiator clanks, pouring heat into the room. It’s warm in here, nice and cozy. Bucky slides his hand along Steve’s hip, dipping under his sweater to press his palm to Steve’s skin. The flush in Steve’s cheeks deepens.

“Feeling alright?” Bucky asks.

“Mhmm,” Steve says, eyes opening.

“You feel a little hot to me. You sure?”

“Just overheated.” He gestures toward the sink, filled deep with water. “It’s hot.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, repeats it as Steve presses back against him.

“You’re so good,” Steve mumbles, turning his face into Bucky’s neck. He drags in a long inhale. His eyelids flutter, and he noses in closer, toward Bucky’s hair where his scent is stronger. Bucky leans forward, enough to tuck his own nose against Steve’s throat, and breathes him in right back. Sharp, sweet—citrusy. A fresh-peeled grapefruit, or an orange.

“You smell good,” Steve says, like it’s new. “God, what is that? You _smell_ good.”

Bucky blinks his eyes open, frowning now at the bright spots of color in Steve’s cheeks. “You sure you’re okay, Steve?” 

“Fine, Buck, I’m fine. You’re such a worrywart.”

This time, Bucky slides his hand up to cover Steve’s forehead. Fever can make him loopy like this sometimes. It’s not hot, though, not even particularly warm—no fever, as Steve had said. But when Bucky inhales again, paying better attention to the details, Steve’s scent seems… off, somehow. A little oversweet, and richer too, as if someone boiled the citrus down into marmalade.

“Hey,” Bucky says, “turn around, will you, let me get a look at you.”

Steve sighs and twists in Bucky’s arms, but not to face him—he slides out and away, toward their room. He throws a glance over his shoulder, eyes wide.

“Steve,” Bucky says, firm. He doesn’t like to have to order Steve around; Steve hardly ever responds to it anyway, but if it’s Bucky’s only card, then it’s his only card. “Come back here. Now.”

“No,” Steve says. He pauses in the threshold, gaze still boring into Bucky like he’s daring him to follow. What’s gotten into him tonight? This strange mood, all his doting, the way he keeps putting his back to Bucky and arching his spine outward so his ass looks—

Bucky sucks in a breath, first through his mouth. A second through his nose.

On a second pass of Steve’s scent, it’s obvious as the sky is blue. Even from here—the mouth-watering warmth and sweetness. Steve’s good humor, and how pliant and tactile he’s been the last few days. 

All the details add up to one glaring answer: Steve’s in heat.

It’s _February._

Even as Bucky feels his body start to respond, sees Steve’s nostrils flare at the way his own scent suddenly floods the room, possessive—he knows it’s too early. The season doesn’t start for another three months. This shouldn’t be happening now, not now—not at all, to be frank. Steve’s anemia and low body weight mean he’s only ever cycled a handful of times, and rarely more than once a season. Some underlying hormone issues too, the doctors theorized. Hard to test for conclusively.

But Steve’s been healthier this winter. Only the one cold, and it hadn’t incapacitated him. With both of them working decent jobs, they’ve been able to afford richer foods—red meats, fresh bread, things that have helped Steve put on a little weight and keep it for once.

So maybe this is just his body doing what it can, when it’s able. They’ll need to call the doctor to have him checked, just to be safe.

That, though, will have to come later.

“Steve,” Bucky says, soft and fire-warm.

“Yeah?”

“Did you know?” Bucky gestures toward his back. “That you’re in season.”

“Am I?” Steve glances down at himself, like he might be able to see it. He takes a deep breath, and something seems to settle in him. “Oh. Oh, wow.”

Neither of them had recognized the telltale signs, spelling it out for them for days. They simply aren’t used to reading them, much less in the dead of winter.

But then Steve’s brow quirks up, and that rich-sweet scent _rolls_ off him. “You going to do anything about that, Buck?”

He darts into the bedroom, disappearing.

It’s all Bucky knows how to do: he lays chase.

There’s not very far to go, here. He moves faster than Steve, catching up to him so quick it blurs his own vision. His hands find Steve’s waist and drag him back from the edge of the bed, against the line of his body. Steve yowls fitfully, struggling both into and away from him at once, like he’s not quite sure what he wants.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky coos, circling his arms around Steve’s middle and gripping him possessively. “Hey, hey, you’re alright.”

Steve turns his head, sets his mouth to Bucky’s shoulder, and bites him right through his shirt.

 _“Ow,_ Jesus!”

The bite has the intended effect; Bucky’s hold loosens just enough for Steve to slip free of it. He skitters away again. But when he settles in the corner of the room, effectively trapping himself, there’s a small smile on his face.

It’s a game, always. _Chase me, take me, remind me I’m yours._

There are old omegas’ tales about a time long ago, how heat-scent made an alpha inconsolable—how an omega’s mind emptied of anything beyond finding someone to fuck. The tales put it more poetically; Bucky preferred simple language. The fact was, though, that if any of that ever was true, it wasn’t now.

Steve’s eyes may be half-lidded and hazy, but there’s an awareness there. A sharpness to the way he stands. Bucky, for all he wants to haul Steve to the bed and hold him down, has no trouble waiting.

They both want it, though. The room already smells like sex. Giving over to instinct is as easy as breathing in.

“Are you going to be sweet for me, Steve?” Bucky asks, inclining his head. He takes a prowling step closer.

“Thinking about it,” Steve says.

“You were being so sweet a minute ago, loving on me like that.”

Bucky’s closing the distance between them, step by step. Steve bares his teeth at him—but it’s mostly a grin. In the dim of the room, his dilated pupils nearly blot out the blue.

“I’ll give it to you just like you want,” Bucky says.

“How d’you know how I want it?”

“‘Cause you’re gonna tell me.”

He lunges. Steve dodges, but it’s all for show—Bucky gets hold of him easy and locks Steve against his chest. A whine starts building in Steve’s chest almost immediately. He rocks in Bucky’s arms, straining against the grip, even as his hips stay glued to Bucky’s, pushing backward with ever-increasing pressure.

Bucky doesn’t know if the protest is token—Steve reminding him he’s not that easy, not so submissive—or instinctual. Both, maybe. It doesn’t matter. The way that whine shatters in Steve’s throat the moment Bucky’s sets his mouth to Steve’s neck, Steve may as well dump all his cards face-up on the table. Not much longer till he settles.

Bucky licks a path from behind Steve’s ear to his collarbone, nosing the sweater aside to find more sweet-smelling skin. A shiver rolls through Steve’s body; he head drops backward onto Bucky’s shoulder again, so Bucky turns his tongue to Steve’s bared throat. It’s all over now, he’s thinking, when he starts petting at Steve’s flanks to get him to relax and Steve just turns _boneless_ against him.

“That’s it, Steve, sweetie,” Bucky purrs. He slips a hand into Steve’s long johns to squeeze his bare hip. Steve sighs and shifts his feet farther apart, like he’s thinking about letting Bucky bend him in half right here over the edge of the bed. They press together, Steve’s ass sinking into the cradle of Bucky’s pelvis. “Show me and you can have it.”

“Bucky, Buck, just, just give it to me, _please.”_ He cants his hips backward like he’s searching for something—Bucky’s hard cock, caught between them.

“Show me,” Bucky repeats, dragging Steve’s sweater up and his long johns down. He kneads his thumbs into Steve’s lower back to coax him into it.

“Mm,” Steve says, _“God,_ you—”

He falls all at once, the last domino. The bed itself seems to sigh in relief when Steve crawls onto it and sets himself up. It’s classic form, perfect despite the sweater pooled around his shoulders and the long johns twisted at his thighs. There’s nothing in this world that makes Bucky’s heart beat faster than the sight of Steve on his elbows and knees, hips slanted skyward to open himself up.

He doesn’t know why he wants it—why Steve likes it like this, when he’s ripe. He never wants it this way otherwise. _I like looking at you, Buck._ Hell, Steve hardly even likes Bucky inside him most of the time; prefers mouths and hands most days unless he’s really hurting for it.

Now, though, with Steve’s heat-scent making it smell like a damn citrus grove in here, it feels _right._ Makes Bucky feel like he’s about to fulfill some innate, cosmic design by fucking Steve from behind till they’re both crying. And he is, in a way—that’s what the heat does, no matter how much control they have or like to think they have; it reduces to them to their most basic instinct, the earliest commandment in the whole big book: _Be fruitful and multiply._

God must’ve really meant that one.

His dick’s telling him to get on with it, but Bucky takes his time to undress, watching Steve all the while. Steve, in turn, cranes his head around to find out where Bucky’s gone and starts huffing at him, irritated.

“Buck—” 

“You’ll get it,” Bucky tells him, voice too rough with want to be soothing. “Promise, Steve.”

When Bucky is naked, he grabs the ankles of Steve’s long johns and starts yanking them off. The sweater comes next, mussing Steve’s hair, but Bucky smooths it back down for him. It’s pointless—Bucky will no doubt mess it up again—but Steve presses into the touch. He turns his head to lick a fat stripe over Bucky’s palm and bite his thumb.

Finally, finally, Bucky settles onto the bed behind Steve and lays a hand on his hip. The arch in Steve’s back deepens, his knees sliding wider to give himself up. His whole body is flushed but the color is deepest between his cheeks, his hole the bright cherry on top of it all. He’s glistening already, moving with every breath.

He wanted Bucky’s thumb—he can have it.

Bucky presses the digit against Steve’s hole, rubbing hard circles, then slips it inside. Steve tenses and untenses, pushing back into the intrusion even as he says, “Bucky, tiger, quit teasing me already.”

 _But it’s fun,_ Bucky thinks, his tongue caught between his teeth as he slides his thumb deeper to search. Holding Steve open like this is as good as slapping Bucky in the face with his smell. He leans in, inhaling, all of it going right to his head like a good bump. His brain screams out _ripe, yours, take him._

He licks the base of Steve’s spine and murmurs, “Where’s your diaphragm, sweetie?”

“Mm, don’t—don’t need it, it’s fine,” Steve sighs.

“Steve.” Bucky pulls his thumb free and pinches him, asking him to surface for a moment. “Come on, pal, where is it?”

“Not like it matters, Buck, I can’t even…”

Bucky bites back his sigh and goes to rifle in the dresser himself, even if it kills him to leave Steve alone on the bed again. He finds what they need quickly enough. Steve has sagged into the bedsheets when he returns, hiding his face. Bucky knows it’s just his hormones making him sullen; part of Bucky feels the same way, but they’ll both be grateful for it later.

Once the diaphragm is in place, Bucky lets his two fingers linger inside Steve a while, rubbing on his walls still Steve starts to pant and perk up again. He gets wetter.

“Hey, _hey,_ give it to me now, Buck—”

“Give you what?”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, there he is.”

A smile on his face, Bucky pulls his fingers free and spreads the wetness on them over his cock. By now he’s positively aching to shove himself inside Steve and fuck him through all three stories below them, but he always tries to be delicate about it—at least till Steve tells him to cut it the hell out. His free hand smoothes up Steve’s back, encouraging the arch in his spine, as he lines himself up.

The first few moments are always excruciating. It always feels like a question, whether Steve’s body will yield and let him in—but then it _does._ Steve jerks but Bucky holds him steady, pressing forward by inches. Steve whines and shudders, reaching back to grip Bucky’s thigh hard. Their first handful of times this way, Bucky would have sworn Steve didn’t like it all. Steve said that wasn’t it; that the real problem is, he likes it so much that it totally overwhelms him. He can only take it every once in a while. It’s a rare, sweet indulgence.

Steve’s breath is ragged by the time Bucky’s fully seated inside him. He drops his head, lifts it, and drops it again when Bucky just barely shifts his hips. Steve feels like humid summer inside—hot, wet, agonizing. Bucky pants, too, at the effort of holding himself still. Steve’s fingers flex on his leg again and again.

Then, at long goddamn last, Steve drops his hand and tilts his hips, pressing backward like he might find even more of Bucky to draw inside him. “Unh,” he grunts, “you’re so…”

It’s fill in the blank: _good, big, unbearable._ Bucky reads it for what it is—permission.

His first thrust is harder than he means it to be. Steve jolts and yelps, clenching around him. But then, not to be outdone, he just shoves his own hips back at least as hard. 

Always something to prove. If he wants it, it’s his.

Bucky plants one hand between Steve’s shoulder blades and leans his weight into it, forcing Steve down and still. From there he sets up a bruising grind. He sinks his cock into Steve with slow strength, bent low over him, close enough that Steve should hear the growl in his chest even in his bad ear. Bucky fucks him possessively, moving his hand to crook his elbow around Steve’s throat, holding his head aloft. He crowds in closer till they’re pressed together shoulder to knee. 

His mouth opens on Steve’s neck—not biting, not holding him down, but the idea is there. Steve doesn’t need it; he’s being so sweet again, mewling with every deep press of Bucky’s thick cock into his body. That’s not that kind of control Bucky’s ruminating on anyway as pleasure blots everything but _Steve, Steve, mine_ from his thoughts.

There’s no bond mark under his tongue. No silvery half-moon of indents on Steve’s neck or shoulder, or maybe his hip. Steve has said he doesn’t want it. He thinks he’s being noble. _Don’t need that to know, Buck,_ he tells him. Of course—of course they don’t _need_ it. They need neither a mark nor the papers that go with it to know they belong to one another. 

Bucky wants it. Christ, he wants it bad—wants to put his teeth in Steve till he cries a little bit, the way it’s rumored most omegas do. Steve isn’t like most omegas but Bucky likes to think, when he’s buried inside him with his hormones and hips rolling in equal measure, that Steve might shed a few tears. It’s supposed to hurt like hell. But then it should feel good, _good,_ and they say the sex is better than ever—among other changes, like the irreversible connection down to the bones.

Someday. Someday Bucky will convince him, but right now Steve is shaking under him and clawing at the pillows.

“Shh,” Bucky soothes, “you’re okay, sweetheart, you’re taking it.”

“Bucky,” Steve splutters, the first real word he’s managed since Bucky started fucking him in earnest. “Buck, it’s so—I’m, and you, _oh…”_

“Do you need me to stop?”

“No, no, no—”

Bucky nips his shoulder and snaps his hips in answer. Steve will tell him, if it’s too much—if he really does need a break. For now Bucky threads an arm beneath them and rolls till they’re on their sides, thinking less friction might help. Once he starts, though, he keeps going till he winds up on his back with Steve sprawled on top of him, still impaled on his dick. Steve’s hole clutches around him, keeping them together—not long now.

Steve turns his head, kissing Bucky’s face while Bucky finds a mean rhythm again. From this vantage he can see down Steve’s pale front to where his cock rests again his stomach, hard and pink. Bucky curls his fingers around him, gingerly where Steve is so sensitive, but Steve still shivers and cries out at the touch. It won’t take much; Steve is so close, Bucky can smell it where his nose is pressed into Steve’s neck.

“That’s it,” Bucky says. “Almost over—just come for me, Stevie.”

Even in the middle of all this, that pulls a snort out of Steve. It’s brief, though; he’s back to keening within seconds. Bucky grips his thigh with his free hand, pulling Steve’s legs further apart so he can drive as deep into him as possible—and that’s it. Steve’s body quakes, clear fluid spilling from his cock while he sighs out, nearly a sob. Hot color blooms all down his chest.

All at once he seizes up, muscles drawn tight—clamping down around Bucky’s dick to hold him fast. Bucky feels the pressure at the base of his shaft build to a crescendo in response. It takes of all half a minute before they’re fused together. Impermanent, but it doesn’t feel that way. Bucky may as well be locked inside Steve like this all the time, for what little difference it would make. He knows it’s too hard on Steve’s body but he wants it every day.

“Fuck,” he groans, “Steve, _Steve.”_

There’s nothing left but to grind in slow gyrations. Steve pets his hair, still whimpering, hips jerking every time Bucky’s knot drags heavy over that bright spot inside him. The smell of them both boils and blends, saturating the bed with citrus and clove. Anyone who walks past their warped door will know just what’s going on beyond it. That delicious, implacable ache builds slow, starting in Bucky’s hands where they balance Steve on top of him, spreading and spreading till it reaches his groin. The spark catches, and he pours into Steve with a deep, enduring moan.

Steve’s knees twitch together like he feels it happening—and he must, all that new warmth. His hole spasms around Bucky’s cock, a second orgasm his body’s way of making sure it drags every last drop out that it can. He whimpers softly through it.

The air feels soup-like when Bucky finally rolls them onto their sides.

“God,” Steve sighs. He noses into the pillows, wild hair brushing Bucky’s chin.

“You’re doing great,” Bucky rasps, because it’s true. He wraps Steve up in his arms to hold him close, even if it’s redundant with their bodies knotted together.

“Still feels good.”

“Yeah?”

“Doesn’t it for you?”

That’s the thing, with sex like this—it’s only beginning. The boiling of before has been reduced to a simmer, and they’ll lie here in gentler euphoria till it’s over. Bucky can feel another orgasm of his own starting to tingle under his skin, and soon he’ll press deeper and come into Steve again; maybe do it a third time if the lock holds long enough. Everything feels hazy and overbright. Steve could come again too, as many times as Bucky can make him.

But the way Steve’s breathing like he’s just sprinted across the Brooklyn Bridge, he may be wrung out. Bucky pets his chest like he can stop his panting that way.

“Steve?” Bucky asks.

“I’m okay,” Steve says, because he knows that tone. “I’m good—tired. _Full.”_

Bucky rocks forward just to punch a groan out of him; they both giggle about it.

“This is,” Steve breathes, “this is nice, I like this part.”

“Yeah?”

“Being close to you.” He slings an arm backward over Bucky’s hip to dig fingers into his thigh again. “‘M’sorry, though.”

“What’ve you got to be sorry about?”

“That it—that it happened at all.”

“Hey, no, it’s alright.” Bucky strokes Steve’s face, then grips him by the jaw so he can find his mouth to kiss him. “We’ll figure it out. Always do, don’t we?”

Steve sighs, the pinch of worry sloughing off his face when he kisses Bucky again. They stay that way, kissing and grinding together, till Bucky comes again and Steve shakes his way through another, too. 

When Steve starts to loosen around him and Bucky’s knot flags in kind, it’s not any real relief. Steve twists in his arms and burrows against Bucky, his breath hitching.

“I know it’s dinnertime,” he mumbles, “but can we stay a while longer?”

Steve’s heat won’t mellow for another twelve hours at least, even if the rest of him seems calm for now. He’s still clingy and sweet-smelling, laving open-mouthed kisses over Bucky’s collarbones. Bucky’s eyes flutter closed and stay that way. They’ll fall asleep like this probably, wake up and do the whole song and dance over again at two in the morning.

Bucky doesn’t mind. He hopes it happens again—in May or June, when it’s supposed to. 

“Sure, sweetheart,” he says into Steve’s part, lips at his scalp. “I’m all yours.”

He feels Steve's smile on his skin. “Mm. I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Baby's first a/b/o.
> 
> Come say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bride_ofquiet), where I went full method trying different essential oil combos to figure out Steve and Bucky's scents. (Two drops grapefruit + one drop orange + two drops clove + one drop vanilla in a diffuser, JUST if you're curious.) 
> 
> It's possible I will write more in this verse since I have six pages of notes on it. I'm highly susceptible to bullying!


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